Excerpt from "Mozart's Wife." A musician's small son is rather unceremoniously left with the Mozart's.
He had lots of pupils that year, both adults and children. The children positively worshipped him, though it was hard to understand why. He was usually late for their lessons and occasionally he forgot them all together.
Sometimes, he simply sat down at the klavier and played, leaving them to stand at his elbow and watch. To me, it seemed these displays of mastery would be defeating, even disheartening. How could they ever aspire to his perfection?
By far the most talented of his young students was Johann Nepomuk Hummel. Generous to a fault, my husband never charged the boy's Papa a kreutzer, although he was an extra son in our house off and on for almost two years.
One afternoon I came home from visiting Sophie and found Wolfi sitting at his clavichord with a small boy on his knee who was expertly performing a Scarlatti sonata. Wolfgang's face was glowing. He looked, for all the world, like a child with a new toy.
When I asked who this accomplished little musiker was and where he had come from, I was told that, during my afternoon absence, we had acquired another child.
"How long will he be here?" I asked, staring at the top of Johann's curly, fair head.
"Oh, until Michaelmass. Or, maybe, Christmas."
When I looked dismayed, I think it finally dawned on him that a wife might have something to say about this kind of thing.
"Well, he's only seven, aren't you, Johann?" Wolfi said. "He won't take up much room. Why, he's already told Elise he knows all about babies, as well as Signore Scarlatti."
Johann, who had been studying my expression with some apprehension, hopped off Wolfgang's lap. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Frau Mozart," he said, and the polite greeting was accompanied by the most adorable bow. "My Papa very much hopes that I can stay and have lessons with Kapellmeister Mozart. I promise I won't eat much or be in the way. I've already promised to help the nice nurse with your baby."
This young gentleman, I thought, possessed a thousand times the finesse of my husband. I sighed, shook my head at Wolfgang, and then knelt to talk directly with this tactful child.
"That's all right, darling," I said, stroking his round cheek. "You are very welcome to stay."
Thank heaven, he really was a dear, polite and well-behaved. Elise immediately took him under her wing and soon became very fond of him herself. She said it was easier having two little boys in the house because they entertained each other. Karl found our small guest endlessly fascinating and toddled after him all day.
From the start, Mozart treated young Johann Nepomuk like a professional. The boy was dragged off to entertainments that lasted all night so he would hear good music and be around musicians. He was also frequently roused out of a dead sleep to perform. No matter how much Elise or I complained, Mozart insisted this was "good training."
"Herr Mozart," Elise protested, "I really don't think you should get a child up at all hours like that." In her opinion, a seven year old should be sleeping at two o'clock in the morning, not playing for drunks--even if these self-same drunks were also Kapellmeisters.
Wolfi waved her protest aside. "Oh, he loves it! He's born to music. Why, Papa dragged my sister and me all over Europe before we were ten and neither of us is any the worse for wear."
Besides music, Johann studied arithmetic and reading. Papa Hummel had left behind a notebook filled with practical arithmetic, all about bookkeeping and converting kreutzer, florin, gulden, ducats and sequins back and forth. Every day Johann was supposed to work a few problems.
Towards the end, Papa Hummel made them rather knotty. I was surprised to discover, as I helped him with these, that I had quite a knack for this kind of thing.
The worst scrape the boy got into with us was over Wolfi's beloved billiard table. Johann had been cautioned more than once not to touch either the table or the cues, but one afternoon I heard Wolfgang shouting, "Don't you come into this room again, Johann Nepomuk! Not ever! Do you hear me?"
Could it be? Wolfgang in a temper?
As I went to see what was wrong, Johann came pelting. When he saw me, he sank to the floor in despair and grabbed my skirts, sobbing as if his little heart would break.
"I didn't mean to! Oh, please don't send me away, Frau Mozart!" As I gathered him into my arms, he wailed, "Tell the Kapellmeister I'm sorry! Please! Tell him it was an accident!"
Goodness! What on earth had he done? "Don't worry, sweetheart!" I soothed.
Elise, always quick to answer the bleats of her lambs, came running from the kitchen. To her questioning look, the only answer I could give was a shake of my head. I passed Johann, now hiccuping with distress, into her arms.
In the parlor I found Wolfgang bending over his precious billiard, strong fingers soothing the baize. "Damn. I always thought Stadler would be the one to pull this trick!" He patted the felt solicitously.
Sure enough, there was a neat triangular tear. Why, I thought, the poor child had only wanted to play the way his hero did.
Sighing, I rubbed my husband's back. I knew that Mozart wouldn't rest until he'd fixed his table. I hoped it wouldn't take an entire new cover, but knew, too, that he couldn't stand to be deprived of his billiard for long.
Book I of Southern Swallow Series – 12th Century scholar Li K'ai-men takes command of his first official assignments during a time of political unrest and barbarian invasions.
